Chapter 3: The Wrong Target
“Your daughter wasn't supposed to be the target.”
Rachel's words seemed to hang in the hospital corridor.
I stared at her.
“What did you just say?”
She looked at Mark.
He shook his head.
“Don't.”
Rachel's eyes filled with tears.
“You need to tell her.”
“Rachel,” Mark warned.
I stepped closer.
“Tell me what?”
She looked at me.
Then at Emma's hospital room.
Then back at my husband.
“I didn't know they would go this far.”
My hands began shaking.
“Who is they?”
Rachel didn't answer.
“Who?”
A nurse passed us, pushing a cart.
Rachel waited until she disappeared around the corner.
Then she whispered:
“The people Mark owes.”
I stared at my husband.
“You said you owed money to gamblers.”
“I do.”
“Who are these people?”
Mark's face was tight.
“They aren't just gamblers.”
“Then what are they?”
He looked away.
Rachel answered for him.
“People who don't accept losing.”
I felt cold despite the warm hospital air.
“Why would they target Emma?”
“They weren't targeting Emma.”
Rachel swallowed.
“They were targeting Mark.”
I looked at my husband.
“How?”
Rachel's voice dropped.
“Someone was supposed to die.”
Silence.
My stomach twisted.
“Who?”
She pointed at Mark.
“Him.”
Mark closed his eyes.
I couldn't breathe.
I thought about the cup.
The lemonade.
The sedative.
The vial.
The missing money.
The anonymous message.
Everything suddenly looked different.
“What were you planning?” I asked Mark.
He didn't answer.
“What were you planning?”
“Nothing.”
“You just said someone wanted you dead.”
“I never said that.”
“Rachel did.”
“She doesn't know everything.”
Rachel stepped forward.
“I know enough.”
Mark glared at her.
“You need to stop.”
“No.”
Rachel's voice trembled.
“I've spent months covering for you.”
I turned toward her.
“Covering what?”
She hesitated.
“His debts.”
“How?”
“I gave him money.”
“How much?”
“Almost eighty thousand.”
I stared at her.
“You gave my husband eighty thousand dollars?”
“I thought he needed it temporarily.”
“You knew about the gambling?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“No.”
My voice became barely audible.
“Why?”
Rachel looked down.
“Because he said if you found out, you'd leave.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You were protecting him.”
“Yes.”
“From me.”
“Yes.”
“While he was stealing from our savings.”
“I didn't know about the three hundred thousand.”
Mark finally spoke.
“I didn't steal it.”
I turned toward him.
“What do you call transferring our savings without telling me?”
“I was going to put it back.”
“You gambled it.”
“I was desperate.”
“You lied to me.”
“I was trying to fix it.”
“You put our daughter in danger.”
“I didn't!”
His voice echoed through the hallway.
Everyone turned.
Mark immediately lowered his voice.
“I didn't drug Emma.”
“Then who did?”
“I don't know.”
Rachel suddenly grabbed my arm.
“Sarah.”
I pulled away.
“What?”
“There's something you need to know.”
She looked around nervously.
“Before Emma collapsed, I saw someone outside your house.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Describe him.”
“Tall. Dark coat. Baseball cap.”
“When?”
“About twenty minutes before Emma collapsed.”
I stared at her.
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Because I thought it was one of them.”
“One of who?”
“The men Mark owes.”
Mark stepped forward.
“Rachel.”
She ignored him.
“He came to the back door.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he want?”
“I don't know.”
“You spoke to him?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know he was there?”
Rachel's face changed.
“I saw him talking to Mark.”
I turned.
“Mark?”
My husband looked stunned.
“I never talked to anyone.”
“You did,” Rachel said.
“No.”
“I saw you.”
“Rachel, you're lying.”
She stepped backward.
“I saw you give him something.”
The hallway went silent.
I looked at Mark.
“What did you give him?”
“Nothing.”
Rachel's voice cracked.
“A small vial.”
Mark went completely still.
Detective Harris appeared at the end of the corridor.
He had clearly heard enough.
“Everyone stays here.”
The interrogation room smelled like stale coffee.
Detective Harris sat across from Mark.
I watched through the glass.
Rachel sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
After several minutes, Harris placed something on the table.
A photograph.
Mark leaned forward.
His face changed.
I couldn't see the photograph clearly.
Then Detective Harris turned it toward the camera.
It was a security image.
A man in a dark coat standing beside a black sedan.
The timestamp read:
6:41 P.M.
Forty-three minutes before Emma collapsed.
Harris pointed at the man.
Mark shook his head.
“I don't know him.”
Harris placed another photograph down.
This one showed the man's face more clearly.
Mark stared at it.
Then whispered something.
Harris leaned closer.
“What?”
Mark swallowed.
“Malcolm.”
I looked at Rachel.
She covered her mouth.
“You know him?” Harris asked.
Mark nodded.
“Who is Malcolm?”
Mark didn't answer.
Harris slammed his hand against the table.
“Who is Malcolm?”
Mark flinched.
“He's a collector.”
“Debt collector?”
“Yes.”
“How much do you owe him?”
“I don't know.”
“Guess.”
Mark looked down.
“About one hundred and twenty thousand.”
My heart sank.
“And the missing three hundred thousand?”
Mark closed his eyes.
“I paid some of it to him.”
I felt dizzy.
“You paid him with our money?”
Mark didn't look at me.
“Yes.”
I stepped away from the glass.
Rachel caught my arm.
“Sarah.”
“Don't.”
I walked toward the bathroom.
I needed air.
I needed distance.
I needed to wake up from whatever nightmare my life had become.
But before I reached the door, my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Again.
I stared at the screen.
One message.
MALCOLM DIDN'T COME FOR MARK.
Another appeared.
HE CAME FOR YOU.
My blood ran cold.
Then a third message arrived.
ASK RACHEL WHAT SHE SAW IN THE BASEMENT.
I slowly turned around.
Rachel was staring at me.
She had seen my expression.
“What?”
I walked toward her.
“What happened in my basement?”
Her face went white.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Someone just told me to ask you.”
She shook her head.
“Sarah, please.”
“What happened in my basement?”
Rachel began crying.
Mark came out of the interrogation room.
He saw her.
His expression changed.
“Who contacted you?”
I looked at him.
“What happened in my basement?”
He froze.
Then Rachel whispered:
“I found him there.”
“Found who?”
“Malcolm.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
I stared at her.
“Why was he in my house?”
Rachel wiped her tears.
“He was looking for something.”
“What?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Mark suddenly grabbed her arm.
“You promised.”
Rachel pulled free.
“I can't keep lying anymore.”
“About what?”
She looked at me.
And her next words destroyed whatever remained of my trust.
“Your husband didn't lose three hundred thousand dollars gambling.”
I stared at Mark.
Rachel whispered:
“He gave it to Malcolm.”
“Why?”
She looked toward Emma's room.
“Because Malcolm threatened to expose what Mark had done.”
“What did he do?”
Rachel hesitated.
Then she said:
“He sold something from the hospital.”
Mark's face went blank.
Detective Harris stepped closer.
“Sold what?”
Rachel looked at him.
“The sedative.”
My heart stopped.
But before anyone could speak, the hospital lights suddenly flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the entire corridor went dark.
Emma's heart monitor began screaming.
And from inside my daughter's room came a single sound.
May you like
A man's voice.
“Where is the vial?”
